


mass romantic

by openended



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delenn meets him at the exit of the cobra bay, with an expression that screams both <i>not amused</i> and <i>feel better now?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	mass romantic

John’s going to shoot something.

He really is.

Probably a bulkhead. Anyone wearing a Night Watch armband is fair game. And if all else fails, Londo’s an option (though he really isn’t, because like Michael said – _he’s a pain in the butt, but he’s our pain in the butt_ and John doesn’t have the time or energy for adjusting to new pains in his ass).

In the end, he arranges for several sufficiently-large pieces of garbage to be hauled away from the station and takes his Starfury out for a spin. One of the cargo bins must have held something flammable because it explodes impressively and sends Ivanova into a panic, trying to find a reasonable cover story for the explosion (because the truth – _the captain was on the verge of going insane because he hasn’t seen his girlfriend in non-official capacity for three weeks and decided that the next best thing to getting laid was to blast the crap out of something_ – really isn’t going to fly).

Delenn meets him at the exit of the cobra bay, with an expression that screams both _not amused_ and _feel better now?_

John’s not sure whether to feel scolded or sweep her up in a hug, so as he puts his helmet away in his locker he asks, “Do you have dinner plans?” 

She smiles at him. “I do not.”

He stops mid-motion, his hand resting on the locker door. He knows that tone. The one that says _any ideas you had about your offer being just dinner are going to go out the nearest airlock as soon as the door is closed behind us_. He doesn’t hear it often – they’ve sped right past all ritual and tradition and she’s trying to catch them up to where they should be in the cycle – but when he does, he knows he’s in trouble. If dinner is involved at all, it will be takeout and by the time they remember the only place open will be the Brakiri fruit stand.

John looks around, ensuring the room is clear. He steps toward her and cups her cheeks, tilting her face up for a kiss. He’s wanted to kiss her like this for weeks, passionate and deep as his fingers tangle in her hair and she stands on her toes, trying to mold her body to his as her hands tease at the collar of his flight suit. He breaks away in reluctant deference to their semi-public location and rests his forehead against hers.

“I have ordered dinner,” Delenn breathes, wanting nothing more than to lose herself in his kiss for hours. “It will arrive at your quarters in thirty minutes. I hope that wasn’t too presumptive.” She smirks at his low chuckle; presumption hasn’t been a consideration for months.

John smiles and presses his lips against her skin. She obviously wants to test the creative limits of Brakiri produce even less than he does. He offers her his arm. “Shall we?”

Delenn returns the smile, brilliant and disarming and full of things she'd never say with a chance of being overheard. She settles her hand on his arm and forces him to walk slowly, so they won’t be so obviously in a hurry to get to his quarters and behind a locked door.

Tomorrow morning, he won't even look at his PPG.


End file.
